We've Got The Year
by cinderellathings
Summary: Santana, a notorious player in the halls of McKinley High, finally learns what love really is and what it's worth when she meets her new (married) English teacher, Brittany Evans. They build a bond that goes beyond just a teacher and a student. After their year together is up, what will become of them?
1. Wonder

One year ago.

_"I dunno, Puck. She's just..."_

_"Special?" he finishes for me. I smile bashfully._

_"Well... yeah, basically. I mean, I've never met anyone like her before. I think I'm in love with her, Puck." The goofiest smile spreads across my face._

_"Look, San. If you really love Rachel, then you've gotta break up with Mark."_

_I sigh. "I know, but he's such a sweet guy."_

_He scoffs playfully. "Yeah, a sweet guy that you cheated on." I hit his arm hard enough to make him whimper._

_"I didn't cheat. I didn't let Finn kiss me when he tried to. I do have a conscience, you know. It was just nice to have someone there since Mark lives on practically the other side of Lima. And you're one to talk, Mr. One-Woman-Is-Never-Enough." He laughs, although he's obviously still recovering from the blow._

_"Hey, you can't cage Puckzilla. Once he's out and on the prowl, he can't be tamed."_

_"Oh, really? Cause to me, Puckzilla seems kinda like a pussy. And quite frankly, I think he should be treated like one." I reach in my bag's side pocket and produce a small water gun that I had bought for a dollar on the way to school and, despite the fact that we're in a busy hallway, spray him. We both laugh and he soon has me in the corner spraying me with the gun. In all our fun, we don't notice the fact that Mr. Harrison is coming towards us with his perpetually angry demeanor. Then again, if I was stuck teaching the freshmen algebra every year, I'd be angry, too._

_"Santana! Noah! What do you think you're doing?" Even though he's mad and possibly about to send us to the dean, we're still laughing._

_"God, Mr. H. It's just water. No big deal," I speak up. The teacher looks from him to me, then back to him. I can practically see that he's considering whether or not he cares enough to do anything further._

_"Give me the water gun." I roll my eyes and hesitantly hand it over. I didn't have it for long, but I was already attached to it. Sigh._

_"Bummer," Puck says simply and pulls me out of the corner. We continue walking to our English class. As we walk, we pass a room where a blonde woman had obviously been watching what happened. Her expression remained stoic as we continued to look at one another curiously. I could tell she disapproved of what Puck and I were doing. I could also tell that she disapproved of my personality, from what she's seen, entirely. I can tell all this from the way she's looking at me. I wonder what else she thinks about me. Of course, I didn't get the chance to find out. I didn't see her again for the rest of that school year._

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REVIEWS, PLEASE? (:


	2. Regrets Collect Like Old Friends

**You guyssssss. You inspire me. 500 words and I already got reviews saying you guys love the story? You're amazing. You make me want to spend my time writing for you guys instead of doing my summer AP English assignment, much like this very moment. Thank you, loves.**

**Also, to the Guest who responded to the fact that Brittany has Sam's last name, it's a very important part of the story. Don't worry. It'll start to make sense in later chapters.**

**So, here's chapter 2. Hope you enjoy it.**

**Btw, I've been waiting for summer so that I could work on this as frequently as I/you guys want without giant gaps in between updates. I'll be updating more frequently now. Love you guys. MUAH! (:**

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A summer assignment? Really? I've been thinking the same thing ever since I found out about it on the last day of English II. I thought it as I was searching the library for that damn book. I thought it as I had to actually buy the book because it seemed like it was checked out of every library by every McKinley High soon-to-be junior. I thought it as I actually read the book and actually thoroughly enjoyed the book. And now, I'm thinking it as I'm looking at my junior year schedule and the fact I have English every. fucking. day. Don't get me wrong, I love English. I'm actually an aspiring writer. But having such a rigorous class every. fucking. day. is complete bullshit because, as much as I love to write, I really hate reading. I have an attention span the size of an ant... or Puck's dick.

Every summer, the McKinley High students post their schedules on Facebook, Twitter, etc. to see who they have classes with. I screenshot the schedule and upload it to my wall, making comments about each class.

**1. What the hell is Sociology?**

**2. Music. The teacher is so hot.**

**C. Lunch. Please don't be full of freshmen. I swear, they force the razor blades to slowly inch out of my hair.**

**D. English. Every. Fucking. Day. And who the hell is Mrs. Evans?**

**4. Trig. Again.**

**5. US History... =/**

**6. Chemistry. Sounds easy.**

**8. Drama. YES.**

I get a comment. From Lucas Gottesman. Creep. He tried to cop a feel at Quinn's pool party this Summer, as if the fact that I was at the party practically sexin' it up in the pool with Finn meant nothing.

"We have second period together! Can't wait! (;"

Creep. At that, I turn off the computer and sulk. My schedule is shit. This year will be shit. Shit.

I lie back on my bed with the phone in my hand. I go down my contact list. I stop at Rachel's name and hover over the button. Squint my eyes at the name on the screen.

_"Quinn, I really don't wanna be here. Who wants to talk to stupid incoming freshmen?"_

_"People who need service learning hours to graduate. Namely, you," Quinn points out as I we make our way to our respective booths. I glance at the sign on the table in front of Quinn. MATH TEAM._

_"Nice choice, nerd." She rolls her eyes at me. Before she can make a smartass retort, the incoming freshmen start to pile in. Oh boy._

_"Hey, diva! Why don't you sign up for glee club?" I hear a mom say to her daughter. The young girl doesn't even glance my way before she says, "Ew, no." Well, shit._

_The kids walk around looking not even remotely interested. What these kids don't know is that this school is their best chance at actually becoming a decent human being. This school changes you. You can let the harassment or the praise make you or break you, but, either way, you leave a better person after just the first year. I'd never admit this out loud, of course, but I'm extremely grateful for McKinley High. Especially since I met the three most important people in my life- my best friends, Mercedes and Quinn, and the most amazing, beautiful girl I've ever met, Sugar. Yeah, she was cheating on Artie with me, but she loves me. I just know it. She was gonna break up with him soon. That's what she tells me, anyways._

_I sigh. No one's coming to this damn booth. Who the hell wants to join glee club? Everyone coming into high school wants to be a cheerleader or a football player or some cliche shit. And somehow I got roped into glee. But I love it. I kind of hope some freshmen join the club next year._

_My thoughts get interrupted by the sound of someone's throat being cleared. I look up and am instantly mesmerized. Standing before me is quite possibly the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Her long brown hair cascades down her shoulders so artfully, like perfect waves crashing onto the shore in the most picturesque way. Her eyes are the perfect shade of brown. I'm halfway drowned in them when she speaks up._

_"Hello. I'm Rachel Berry." Her voice is demanding. And even with only these four words spoken, I can already tell that she's a handful._

_"Um, hello, Rachel. Do you have any questions about the glee club?" Why did that sound so lame. It's procedure, I tell myself._

_"Aren't you supposed to give me some type of information first? You know, like an introductory thing?" She's looking at me as if I'm an idiot, but her eyes are dancing with humour. It's a little unsettling. Especially since I can't tell what she finds so humorous- the fact that I obviously have no idea what I'm doing, or the fact that she can probably visibly see how nervous she makes me. Either way, I have to muster up the intelligence to do my job right now._

_"Well, our club is led by Mr. Schuester. He's great. I mean, we sing. A lot."_

_"Really?" The humor remains plastered inside her eyes, conflicting with her bored sounding sarcasm. Everything about her is so contradicting. I take a moment to gather myself as discreetly as I can with her standing only across a table._

_"What I mean is that we are very diverse. We sing all types of music- pop, rock, hip hop, R&B, country-"_

_"Broadway classics?"_

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"The great Broadway classics? Streisand? Lupone? Peters? The Tony Award winning greats and Broadway legends?" Her eyes are lighting up in the most beautiful way. In a way that displays so much passion for what she's talking about- whatever it is._

_"Oh, um, yeah. We can do Strickland-"_

_"Streisand."_

_"Right," I smile at her. And for the first time since we've been speaking, she smiled, and in that moment, I know that I'd have burst into any ridiculous show tune that she wanted just to see that smile again for just a second. The moment is ruined by the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling out._

_"Rachel, sweetie! Come and talk to the drama club rep. You'll love it."_

_"Coming, daddy!" She turns back to me, the smile only showing in her eyes this time._

_"Well," she says hastily grabbing a pen from the table, scribbling her signature on the signup sheet, "I'll see you next year." Before she turns away there's a look in her eyes that I can't decipher, but it gives makes something inside of my ache for her. There's an unfamiliar emptiness in my chest, and she's only been gone for a few seconds._

I sigh and roll over to sit the phone on the nightstand. Once I start thinking about her, I can never stop. I need to sleep. I turn off the light, enveloping myself in the darkness of the room and my thoughts of her until I slowly drift away.


	3. You Give Love A Bad Name

This year will be better. At least, that's what I've been telling myself all day as I've dragged myself through Sociology and Music class. I mean, Sociology wasn't that bad. I just don't really give a fuck about what other people think. Music was better. But the only thing I could think about was the fact that during the piano exercises, Ms. Corcoran kept talking about the "fingering." Not that that was the problem, of course. She's hot. The problem was that it was hard to concentrate when all I could think about what her magic fingers were capable of. Oh, and that freak, Lucas Gottesman, kept trying to slide across my thighs and into my danger square. Needless to say, his hand will never be the same. And the nurse might get a raise.

Anyways, I'm sitting in the cafeteria across from Puck while he makes out with some unknown chick with artificially red hair. She's probably a freshman, the perv. I guess I'm spending the rest of the year's lunch periods elsewhere.

As the period nears its end, I stand to clear my tray, kicking Puck's shin in the process. "Let's go, pedo. We've got English next."

He pulls the girl off him roughly and quickly winks back at her. "See you later."

"Sure you will," I roll my eyes as we start walking down to class. "So who's Mrs. Evans, anyways? Is she new?"

"Nah, I heard she's been here for a while, but she was on leave last year."

"Well, why didn't I see her the year before that?"

"Who the hell knows? But I heard it's a pretty hard class."

I scoff. No matter how strict the teacher, there's never been a person who could resist the Lopez charm. Even straight women. Even if they don't quite want to bang you, they still appreciate the attention that they obviously aren't getting from their husbands. It's so easy to get at least a C in a class just by telling some old, washed up woman that she looks good in her new dress. It's a win-win. They get to feel good about themselves, and you get a decent grade.

Puck and I finally reach the classroom. There's a seating chart on the projector and on the board are the words:

_"There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner, wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk. And when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you, they work their magic."_

A tall, slender blonde woman is scribbling something down on paper at her desk, not paying much mind to the loud students shuffling into the room. I'm talking to Puck about some girl I met at a party when the bell rings. I watch as the woman quickly glides to the front of the room gracefully as if floating. When she finally turns around, my jaw drops.

She's beautiful. Her long, blonde hair shines almost as bright as the smile on her face. Her body is perfect. She's wearing capris and a tank top with a picture of a duck. _This_ is the woman who's been working here for years? She can't be more than 25. She looks... harmless.

"Hello class. My name is Mrs. Evans." Married. Of course. But that doesn't stop my eyes from raking over every inch of her, from her pink painted toes in her sandals to her long, blonde hair. Everything in between is pretty nice to look at.

She begins to take attendance, making sure everyone is in their assigned seat. "Noah Puckerman?"

"You can call me Puck, sweetheart."

"I'll pass. But I _can_ call the dean if you even think about stepping out of line," she fires back, still retaining her sweet persona in the most professional way possible. Puck rolls his eyes and mumbles something incoherent under his breath as he turns his back to stare out the window. I guess I know which class he'll be ditching this year.

Mrs. Evans doesn't dwell on it for long. Her eyes return to her clipboard as she announces the next name. "Santana Lopez." Her eyes meet mine as she says it. I don't believe I've ever heard a more euphonious sound in my life. Her eyes stare into mine and I can't help but feel as if she's looking straight through me. There's something familiar about her gaze.

"Santana?"

"Oh, um. Yes. T-that's," I clear my throat awkwardly, "me." I give her a small, half smile, which she replies to with a sympathetic one. She moves on to finish the attendance.

Fuck. Now she thinks I'm an idiot. What do I care, though? Albeit a gorgeous one, she's just a teacher. Right?

After she finishes the attendance, she stands up in front of the class to instruct us further.

"Everyone take out a pen and a few sheets of paper for your test." The class lets out a collective groan, with the exception of me. I'm far too preoccupied making notes about things about her in my head to remember later. I don't know why. I just am.

I study the way she says we're taking a test with full knowledge that this is not a thing a teacher typically says on the first day of school without so much as a, "Sorry, guys," or even a guilty once over at the students. She says it so directly because she knows that we won't argue back.

"I trust you've all done the summer reading." Murmurs are heard throughout the classroom, but she continues on. "You will have the rest of the class period to write an essay arguing whether or not Shakespeare's _The Taming of the Shrew _could be deemed not sexist." She checks her watch. "You have 45 minutes. You may begin." She smiles a little as if she hadn't just given what in high school seems like a death sentence and proceeds to walk back to her desk.

I'm shit at writing in class. I prefer to be a home on my laptop where I'm more comfortable and the words can flow. Besides, I never actually finished this book. I figured we'd just discuss it as a class and I could put together the last few pieces of it.

I sigh and dedicate the next 45 minutes of my life to bullshitting the best paper I possibly can.

"Time's up, guys. You're dismissed. Leave your papers on your desks. Mr. Puckerman will pick them up."

"Like hell I will," Puck mutters. She simply raises an eyebrow and he groans and begins picking up the tests while everyone but me leaves. She's so aggressive, but she barely even tries. Even Puck's doing what she says. I stay by the door and wait for Puck, folding my arms across my chest and propping my foot up against the door. I watch the way she walks to the back of the room to her desk. She moves so gracefully, but it's also kinda sexy. She must workout a hell of a lot to have an ass like that.

I avert my eyes when Mrs. Evans sits down, her chair facing me. Her eyes move to Puck, obviously waiting for him to finish and bring the papers to her. He grabs the last one and harshly drops the stack of papers on her desk.

"Thank you Mr. Puckerman," she smiles at him genuinely.

"Yeah, whatever." He shoulders his bag, pushing past me to leave. I roll my eyes at him. He doesn't have to be so rude. As I turn to leave, I can see her smile at me from the corner of my eyes. I ignore it as I follow behind Puck, not able to control the slight smile that creeps up on my face.

We walk in silence for a while to our adjacent lockers, the smile still clinging to my lips. She fascinates me. She has this gentle way of being strict. But why am I even thinking about my English teacher? "What a bitch, right?" Puck says after a while, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Who? Mrs. Evans?"

"Yeah, who the fuck does she think she is? Giving test on the first day and ordering me around. Does she not know who I am?" I roll my eyes. She doesn't deserve Puck's shit, even if she's not even around.

"You're just mad cause she didn't wanna ride Puckzilla," I retort.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm not going to that class again."

Normally, I'd argue with him ditching class. We've both failed a couple of classes and we've barely made up the credits to graduate next year. But for some reason, I'd rather sit in English without him next to me.

"Do what you want, Puck? I think she's pretty cool," I say, fighting another small smile.

"You're just saying that cause you're an English nerd. That, or you wanna bang her. Either way," he does a puking motion with his finger, "yuck."

I laugh fakely. "Whatever, Puck." For some reason, I don't like him talking about her that way. I barely know this woman, and yet I feel the need to defend her against my own best friend. It's strange to think about, so I won't.

Just then, I spot Rachel standing by her locker. "I'm gonna..." I trail off, not bothering to finish the sentence before I'm walking over to Rachel's locker. I lean against the wall coolly, trying my damndest to keep my composure.

"Hey, Rachel," she smiles a little at me, but maybe just at nothing in particular, but it makes my heart flutter a little. She goes back to switching out her books. I cough awkwardly.

"So, uh, how was your summer?" She perks up at this.

"Oh, well I mostly spent it with my two loves- musical theater and Finn Hudson." I noticeably , it's noticeable to everyone but her.

What she doesn't know is that I had to spend my entire summer torturing myself, trying not to call her. I had to make Puckerman hide my phone from me to keep me from drunk dialing her... again. I have to constantly keep myself from falling apart in front her every time I see her, especially when she mentions Hudson.

A few awkward silences later, I feel a presence behind me. I can tell who it is without even looking because it's the first time Rachel's genuinely smiled in my direction since this conversation started. Maybe even since our breakup.

"I should go," I say, only half expecting some type of farewell, but she's already being smothered by Frankenteen's lips up against the lockers. I keep my head down and walk away, daring a tear to escape from my eyes. I don't know whether I'm angry or sad. Maybe both. No, definitely both. But I'm far more angry than anything. I mean, did I ever fucking mean anything to her?

_It's been a week since I've been dating Rachel and I've never been happier. Yeah, there are the looks from people who aren't her biggest fans, but they don't matter. Then there are the people who are more concerned with the fact that we're an openly gay (well, bisexual) couple. But they don't matter when I'm with Rachel._

_I reach for the combination lock on her my locker and start turning the dial. All of a sudden, hands are on my hips, turning me around. All I see are a pair of beautiful brown eyes staring back at me and a perfect white smile._

_"Hey, Rach-" Lips are on mine. Her lips are on mine and it feels amazing. That feeling of not caring about anything but the girl currently making my heart race at speeds I don't think even jets could reach. I don't care about the people watching or about the people talking or the teachers' disapproving looks or even about the fact that there's some kid next to me who can't get to his locker because we're on it. I can't think right now. I can only feel. I can only feel her. I can only feel what I think might be love._

I look up and I'm in the middle of an almost empty hallway. I realize I've been standing there and there are tears stinging behind my eyes, begging to be released. I push back any feelings of sadness and let the anger take over me. I stomp down the hallway, innately glancing into Mrs. Evans' classroom. She looks over at me, giving me a sympathetic look. It's like she can read me. But she doesn't fucking know me. I roll my eyes, immediately feeling bad about it afterwards, but I still keep walking. I go to the first floor and leave out a side door that security guards never watch over.

I don't know where I'm going, but I keep walking down the street until I come to a bus stop. There's a bus coming, so I run for it and get on, taking a seat and putting my headphones on after paying. I slowly drift off into sleep.

I'm woken up by another passenger telling me that we're nearing the last stop. I wipe the drool off my lip. Since when do I do that? I realize that this bus goes to the beach. I get off and start walking, keeping track of where the bus stop is for when I get ready to go home. I walk for about a mile down the beach until I come to a small record shop set up near the boat rental.

I walk inside and it's much bigger than I thought. There are rows and rows of vinyl for me to explore. I walk over to the classic rock section to start digging. I pick up a Bon Jovi's "Slippery When Wet" album.

"Bon Jovi," I turn to see an asian girl. She's an employee. "Nice choice," she beams. I give her a polite smile. She's kinda cute, y'know, if you're into gothic chicks who probably like K-Pop. By the look she's giving me, I can tell she's into me. Should be fun.

"Thanks," I give her a flirty smile. I eye her outfit, looking for something to say. She's wearing a nametag and I realize she works here. "Tina," I read. "That's a nice name," I wink. She blushes. Of course. Women are so predictable. Well, most of them. My mind goes back to Rachel until the girl in front of me says something that I don't quite catch.

"Huh?"

"I-I said," she looks nervous, "what's your name?"

"Oh," I step in closer, whispering as if it's the biggest secret in the world. "Santana," I breathe into her ear. I can see goosebumps rising on her skin.

I step back and she's smiling shyly. "You, uh, want me to check you out?" she gestures to the record.

"Seems like you already were," I wink and she giggles. I walk over to the counter and she follows, going to the other side of the counter to ring me up.

"That'll be $12.62."

I hand her the bills. "Keep the change." It's only petty change, but it still makes her smile. She bags the record and I grab it from her. I start to walk away, but then realize how much further I could go with this.

"Hey, Tina."

"Yeah?" she says, beaming.

"You wanna hang sometime? Like, watch movie or something?"

"I'd love to!"

She's so happy; it kind of makes me sick. I'm a perfect stranger, but to her, a few words can make me seem perfect. No one should be this easy.

"Cool." I get her number and leave with a promise to call and schedule a "date."

I check my watch. It's about the time where school would be over, so I decide to head home.

I walk the mile back to the bus stop thinking about nothing and everything at once. Rachel's face pops into my head and I smile a little. I think about how her lips feel. I can almost remember the exact taste of them—some type of vegan chocolate flavored ChapStick stuff. I can almost feel her bare body in my hands again. Suddenly, there's a vivid memory of her under me flashing behind wide open eyes. Between the soft sheets in my reverie, I can almost hear the way she whispered my name as she crashed down in her release, her body stilling in my arms seconds later.

I whispered that I loved her. I told her what I'd felt since the moment I saw her. My heart drops a little at the memory.

A small breeze makes its way past me and I feel something ice cold on my face. I realize that there's a tear on my cheek.

The bus comes as I approach the bus stop. I wipe the tear from my face, step up, and try my damndest to think of anything besides Rachel until I can get home.

I get home an hour late, but who cares? My mother's never here. She's always either at her dead end job, or school, trying to "better herself," by getting the law degree she's always dreamed of. I don't get it. Ever since my parents got divorced, y'know, after he ran off to marry some hooker he met, he's been sending checks the size of Puckerman's ego every month. It's more than enough money to keep us financially secure. But my mom wants to be "independent." She's too old for that shit.

In my room, I put my newly acquired Bon Jovi record on and lie back on my bed, coasting along some uncharted territory between sleep and consciousness.

_An angel's smile is what you sell_

_You promise me heaven,_

_Then put me through hell_

Somewhere in this dream world, dark clouds start to form.

_Your chains of love got a hold on me_

_When passion's a prison, you can't break free_

I see Rachel prancing her way through my almost Wonderland, the dark clouds following wherever she goes.

_Shot through the heart_

_And you're to blame_

_Darlin', you give love a bad name_

I need to shut it off, but I feel numb. I feel like this world I'm in is so fragile, I could so very easily break something. And I already have enough broken pieces to try and carry.

I can feel her again. In this very room. In this very space.

_I'm inside her. I thrust my trust inside her body, spilling my love into her veins through my fingertips. Faster. Faster. More. Harder. Deeper. Yes. Yes. Yes._

_She whispers my name, gasping for air as she collapses on top of me, her walls clamping down hard on my two fingers. She buries her head in my shoulder, her beautiful mane sprawled out on my naked chest._

_I pull out of her slowly, making her release a small sigh into the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around her waist, carving small patterns into her hips with my fingers. I close my eyes, wanting to just feel everything this moment is—to take in everything this girl is._

_"You're really good at this," she whispers, breaking the silence. "I mean, for it being your first time, you're a really good fuck."_

_I try to shake off the belittlement. But I can't. A fuck? I explored her body with adoration, kissed her with passion. I wanted her to see this as love. We made love, didn't we? Well, I made love to her. Why doesn't she see it that way? Or does she?_

_"Rach," I whisper into her hair. She looks up at me through the darkness of the room. Her eyes still pierce mine._

_"Hmm?"_

_"I… I love you." Right that second, I felt her body tense up in my arms._

I can't keep spending my nights like this.


End file.
